


Speak part one

by bluths



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluths/pseuds/bluths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry entered high school with the wrong clothes, wrong look, and the wrong attitude. No friends, no voice, no one knew his secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry had never really been popular, actually, he was just a nobody. He wasn't liked, he wasn't disliked. Somewhere in the middle. But that was how he liked it, honestly. He had all that he needed. But high school was about to change everything. He'd heard it countless times. No easy breaks, no freebies, nothing. You had to fend for yourself. And Harry truly felt that way as he walked into the double doors at 8 AM that morning. They all knew him, Harry Styles. The one who called the cops, the one who busted everyone. The asshole.   
  
He had friends, at one point, but ever since that night in August he was shunned. He felt like a fish out of water, like someone was suffocating him. He thrashed, wiggled, and tried to scream but no sound would come out. He couldn't  _speak._  He was all rigid. He wasn't even really living, he'd told himself. He was on auto-pilot. He wanted to be irrelevant, that would hurt so much less. Instead, he was all the rage, and not in the good way. He'd give anything to just disappear. They'd all like that, wouldn't they?   
  
He made his way to assembly; all the ninth graders had to go. He rolled his eyes; Gemma told him all about it. How they'd just give all the freshmen a talk and the generic "welcome to high school" crap. He didn't need that, though. He didn't even want to be alive. He hadn't even told Gemma. How could he? Who could he trust? Who would even listen to what he had to say? They never did before they sure as hell wouldn't do it now.  
  
His eyes widened when he walked in and saw the ninth grade class. Surely there weren't  _this_  many kids in his grade, were there?  And there it goes again, the loss of breath, pulse increasing, knees shaking. He turned around and made eye contact with the last person he wanted to see. Louis Tomlinson, his ex best friend. He was sitting with three or four people. Harry didn't recognize them, they must be older. Louis was practically shooting daggers at Harry.   
  
If it were the old Harry, he would have throttled Louis, told him off, asked him what his fucking problem was. But he couldn't speak, he didn't dare. Instead Louis just gave him a look of disgust. How  _dare_  Harry risk Louis' reputation? The ultimate betrayal. They had done everything together, suffered their first girlfriends together, Louis' parents divorce, Gemma moving out, the birth of his sisters. But none of that mattered, not in contrast to Louis' popularity. And with venom in his eyes he seemed to hiss, as he mouthed, ' _I hate you'_

And it hurts, more than Harry wants it to. He wants to tell Louis, say something, but he wouldn’t believe him. He wanted to keep it to himself, too. Just so he could wallow some more. He knew that he had to speak; he had to tell someone what had happened to him wasn’t just an accident, that it was something planned, something hurtful. But that’s what you do in situations like this, isn’t it? You blame yourself. Besides, these things don’t happen to  _guys_.

He notices a vacant seat next to a boy with a mop of curly brown hair, almost like his. He looks innocent and lost. Harry asks him if the seats taken and the boy tells him it isn’t.

“Hi, I’m Liam, I’m new,” the boy beams.

Harry smiles back. It’s almost too easy. But he had to hold onto Liam, for now. Liam would hate him too, it was bound to happen. He’d be shocked if one day he didn’t. But Liam chattered in his ear, and Harry made small talk back. Wasn’t there some place where he could learn Small Talk 101?

The first day is a blur, an awful, strange blur. He didn’t feel normal, he didn’t feel right. Maybe if he had some friends it would be okay? Maybe if he everywhere he turned, he wasn’t greeted by faces that he recognized, and what made it worse, was that they all hated him. Maybe high school wouldn’t suck so much if he had friends. He knew it would suck, no matter what, but if he just had some  _friends._  At least he could actually genuinely fake a smile. But there was no one to pretend smile at.

Art class is after lunch. Harry’s stomach is full on what looks like food that’s already been coughed up by a dog. He eats it anyway. Art is cool, so it seems. Harry isn’t that artistically talented but at least he’s _decent_. He stops almost in the middle of the room when a pair of bright blonde hair catches his eye. It’s  _Niall._ He’d hoped to avoid all the people in his group today, so far, besides Louis, so good. But Niall didn’t even seem to notice him, or just acted like he didn’t. He hoped that maybe Niall would speak to him. Niall would forgive him, right?

They’d had a decent group. Louis and Harry, best friends, of course. They never left each other’s side. Niall was the funny guy. Harry could remember one time that Niall made them all laugh so hard that Louis squirted milk out his nose. Ed had moved. Which was fine by Harry, one less person to hate him. But Harry often went to Ed’s house and they’d play the guitar. He actually felt important, loved, even. But now he could hardly remember what that was like.

He decided he liked his art teacher, Mr. Cowell. He didn’t bullshit. He spoke to them like adults, which was refreshing. Most high school teachers treated you like adults, but in the obvious way. You could tell they were trying to make you feel little. They’d watch their mouths and manners but Mr. Cowell didn’t care. Harry liked him, right away. He assigned them a project the first day.

“This project,” Mr. Cowell began. “It’s actually fun, I promise. You’re gonna pick a piece of paper out of this box, and whatever it says, that’s what you’ll work on all year. You can make whatever you want out of it, I don’t care. But I want it to  _say_  something. Let that object speak for you. You can make anything into, well, anything if you really try!”

He came around with the box and Harry took a deep breath and pulled out a piece of paper. He got a tree. What the hell was he supposed to make out of a tree? What was a tree supposed to convey, exactly? But Mr. Cowell wouldn’t allow him to put it back; he was stuck with a tree. He began to sketch the tree trunk. He was all too grateful when the bell rang.

It doesn’t seem real when the day ends; it felt like the longest day of Harry’s life. Home wasn’t much better, but it was a place where he could at least be alone. And he continued to make it, for two weeks. He wasn’t sure how he had done it, but he was almost proud of himself.

Liam sits with Harry at lunch. Liam talks and Harry listens. He calls Harry sometimes, even, to talk about class and what’s going on. All Harry has to do is prop the phone up on a sofa cushion and say ‘uh huh’ every couple of minutes so Liam thinks he’s listening. He knows he should make an effort with Liam. It’s not every day the most hated kid in school actually gets someone who  _wants_  to be his friend. In the meanwhile, everyone he’d ever known continued to ignore him and acted like he didn’t exist.

And he was surprised that Liam never once bothered to ask him what was wrong, if he was okay. And his parents, like they really cared? His mother was too busy running her shitty clothing store, with clothes basically designed for old people. Dad, he was too busy too. Harry knew that if it hadn’t of been for him, his parents would be divorced. But putting two kids through a divorce? Too messy. Gemma could deal with it better than he could have, anyway. At least that’s what his mother said.

And Harry nearly screams when he walks into the bathroom and sees Louis inspecting himself conspicuously in the mirror. He wants to bash his face into the mirror, ask him what his problem is. But again, just like all the other times, he doesn’t dare. Instead

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Louis sounds cold, icy.

“How’s it going?” Harry asks as he shuffles his feet on the ground.

Louis’ lips are almost disappearing because of how much he’s pursing them, “Fine.”

When his friends come out of the stall, he gives Harry a testy look before they both walk out the door. And Harry, as usual, just looks like the speechless idiot. Why didn’t he say something? Why couldn’t he just fucking tell Louis the truth? It just wasn’t that easy.

Liam makes Harry come home with him one Friday. Not that anyone would notice whether Harry came home or not. Liam’s mother is kind, she looks like an angel. She asks Harry questions about his parents and how long he’s lived here. It’s nice to know that someone cares. Liam is too busy planning out their social life.

“We really need to plan big,” Liam has the enthusiasm of a six year old sometimes.

Harry just shudders and sits on Liam’s bed and picks at a loose fray on his jeans. Liam actually takes out a pad of paper, and it takes everything Harry has not to bust out laughing at him. He wants to join all these clubs really get involved. Harry thinks this is some kind of practical joke.

“Maybe we could do French club? They have an outdoor club, where you go like, hiking and stuff. I think that kind of stuff sounds fun. What do you want to do, Harry?” Liam asks.

Harry rolls his eyes, “The clubs are stupid, Liam.”

“Don’t have that attitude!” Liam cries.

He means well, at least, Harry thinks he does. He hates when people make those comments, don’t have that attitude. What does that even mean? He was just stating the truth. The clubs  _were_  stupid. And Harry knew that Liam would try and pull this shit anyway. If he really wanted to know why Harry had this ‘attitude’ why didn’t he fucking ask? And it was in this moment he realized that Liam was using Harry as much as Harry was using him. To stifle the loneliness, but unlike Harry, Liam would find friends to replace him with.

“The most common mistake ninth graders make is holding back, they’re scared to get involved. But it doesn’t matter!” It’s funny because Liam is trying so hard to be inspiring. “You can make your way up the social ladder if you just  _try_.”

And this cleverly constructed plan winds the both of them up in a pep rally before school one morning. It was too early for a pep rally, Harry grumbled. Liam didn’t care, though; he just shoved his way through the crowd tugging Harry behind him. Liam approaches a group of people he swears he knows, but they just look at him awkwardly and fake polite small talk. It’s not that Liam doesn’t know these people at all, he does, but only on a first name basis. Liam is chattering on to these people like he’s known them all his life. This is both amusing and annoying to Harry. He hears Liam introduce him and then some guy speaks up.

“Styles?” The boy is sneering. “Harry Styles? The kid that called the cops on the party at the end of the summer?”

“My brother was at that party,” a girl chimes in with a deathly glare. “He got fired because of that, too. Way to go, asshole.”

And he thought he saw Liam toss him a sympathetic look but he knew that if Liam showed him the slightest bit of that he would foil his precious Plan. They didn’t speak for the rest of the pep rally. Harry watched cheerleaders twirl and flip. Football players and smart kids came up to get their awards. Harry didn’t care about any of this, he just wanted to go home and sleep. He didn’t even want to wake up.

He had the next Monday off because of Columbus day. He didn’t want to go to Liam’s he would have much rather spent his extra day sleeping till noon and reheating left over pizza. But his mother said it would be good for him to get out. Sometimes Harry wants to ask her why she just didn’t have an abortion, or give him away. And he wasn’t even asking because he was sad or whatever. He genuinely wondered if his mother thought that she’d raise such a failure. That her teenage son would be as emotional as a twelve year old girl. He brought nothing to the table, nothing for them to brag about. He swore that he was a mistake.

Liam’s mother was so polite; Harry just wanted to come over to talk to her most of the time. Unlike her son, she listened and actually gave him time to digest the words she spoke. But he hesitantly crept up the stairs to Liam’s room. Liam almost instantly begins rambling on about how he wants to join the musical and how Harry should try out with him. Harry is a good actor, and a pretty decent singer. He could practically convey anything he wanted to with just one look. The sad thing was, you had to be smart enough to understand it.

Harry discouraged the idea almost instantly, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, why on earth not?” Liam furrowed his brow.

“We’re nobody,” Harry said this a bit too harshly. But he didn’t care. It was true.

“How can you say that?” Liam gasped in horror. “I don’t understand, why should that stop us? I hate high school. I hate this. Why is it so hard to make friends here?”

Harry just sits there, unsure of what to say, how to react. He just accepted these things as fact. He never questioned them. He was just a nobody; he wasn’t allowed to question the social caste system of high school.

“At my old school I could have been the lead in the play, worked for the newspaper and chaired the carwash, but here no one cares! I’m pushed in the hallway, it’s like people don’t know I exist!” He was practically whining. “And you’re no help! You’re so negative. You don’t care about anything and you never want to try anything. It’s like you don’t care that people talk behind your back.”

Harry remained still not saying anything. He blinked at Liam. He didn’t really care about what Liam thought of him at this point. He realized he had something Liam didn’t-common sense. Since when did freshmen think they ran the world? Even little children could tell you that ninth graders were at the bottom of the food chain.

Liam sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair, “God, Haz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said that. You’ve been absolutely nothing but nice to me. You’re just about the only person I can trust.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he just shrugged. He left without saying goodbye. Who the fuck needed Liam anyways?

It wasn’t long before his parents did actually say something to him. They all sat there at the table over dinner, clinking their plates and listening to the sounds of chewing and swallowing. Harry barely at his food, he picked at bits and pieces, tucked them under other scraps of food. It’s not like they cared if he ate anyway.

“We need to talk about your grades, Harry,” his father told him sternly.

Harry sighed inwardly,  _here we go again_.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Harry, but you need to kick it into gear,” his mother added in tersely. “Gemma’s in a good college, and I know you’ll be in one too if you  _try_.”

“Look at me Harry,” she sighed at him.

He only tucked his peas under the little strip of chicken he had on his plate. She repeated herself once more, and he noticed that even his father had stopped eating.

“Harry Edward Styles look at me right now,” his mother had her ultimate Death Voice going on.

Harry slowly peered up at her and she continued to give him a lecture of how he needed to straighten up his act, calling him mister, and insisting that this wasn’t going to fly. They’d already let it go on for months, he seriously doubted that they’d do anything about it now. He retreated up to his room and drowned out the noise of his parents fighting with his music.

The next day in biology he tries to forget the dreadful night with his parents. They are studying cells. Everyone scrambles for their partner but Harry just looks to the kid next to him. Nick Grimshaw. He’s tall, wiry, skinny, and the epitome of cool. Or so you’d think. He’s actually a giant nerd. He scares the teachers he’s so brilliant, and no one even bothers to make fun of him. People leave Nick alone and Harry vies to figure out how he does it. Nick ignores Harry, mostly, until Harry turns the knob the wrong way on the microscope.

“Twist it that way! These microscopes cost three hundred dollars and there are clear instructions on your lab sheet right in front of you,” Nick barks at him.

So much for being friends Nick says nothing to him again for the rest of the class. But he begins to ponder what Nick must think of him. Here’s the kid sitting next to him that never talks and is talked about constantly. Nick seems like the blunt type, he seems like he’d just flat out ask Harry what everyone’s deal was but he never did. Harry almost wanted to ask Nick himself but he’d never find the nerve. Not even a random kid in biology likes him.  

And Harry wonders how it could get any worse until Liam joins the “Marthas”. Of course, for males they’re called something different but Harry can’t be fucked to ask what their name is. He doesn’t care. They’re an elite group of bible thumpers at the school, but not the genuine kind. They help people out with can drives, signs, volunteer work, they’re angels. Harry decided that if he had been in any other group he would have faced the rest of the year alone.

The first project Liam has to do is to decorate the teacher’s lounge for Thanksgiving. It seems easy enough. But Harry finds himself ruining red leaf after red leaf and almost in tears because of how damn frustrated he is. They finally get it just about done and Liam is sighing of joy. Harry wishes he could be that naïve.

“What do you think?” Liam stands back and admires his handiwork.

“You’re, uh,” Harry thinks for the right words to use without sounding sarcastic. “A decorating genius.”

Liam laughs, “No, I mean about me being in the Marthas? It’s gonna sound kind of funny, but, I wanted to be homeschooled all this past month. I was so depressed I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt so worthless. But now I’ve found people that have truly accepted me for me and they like me! Sometimes this girl Meg calls me and we just talk and talk. I think I might ask her to the dance, actually.”

Harry doesn’t have time to even choke out an answer before the girls walk in. Meg, Danielle, Eleanor all in a bitchy trio. They sway their hips and flip their hair over their shoulders. Harry rolls his eyes but they don’t see it. They all toss him a look and he realizes that he shouldn’t be here. He never belonged here.

“Yeah, thanks for the homework Liam. You’re such a help,” Harry droned out before he swiftly stalked out the door. He eavesdropped to hear what was said next.

“Nice job, Liam,” he hears Danielle say.

“Who was that guy?” Eleanor asks and he can hear the revulsion creeping up in her voice.

He can practically hear Liam’s smile, “He’s Harry. He was the first person to make me feel at home here.”

“Ew, he’s creepy,” Meg derides. “What’s wrong with his lips? He looks like he has some kind of disease.”

Harry bites down on his lips once more; the pain doesn’t even bother him anymore. The blood just tastes normal, the dry cracks feel natural. He waits until he knows that Liam’s bus has left before he cries in the bathroom. The tears flow down his cheeks and soothe his lips. His eyes are red and puffy and he doesn’t even look like a real person anymore. He scrubs at his face until it’s almost gone. He wishes he had no face, no self, he wishes he was just an idle pencil in the hallway. Forgotten, but someone would find good use for him. They wouldn’t let him go to waste.

Harry leaves the bathroom and decides to stop wallowing over Liam. He shouldn’t have expected Liam to stick up for him. Gemma had always told him not to have expectations because they’d never be met anyway. And that’s when he sees IT in the hallway. IT is walking with his arms around Perrie Edwards, cheerleader, blonde and all stick. IT has a cigarette tucked behind his ear because he’s just that cool and a blonde streak in his ear because he’s dangerous and edgy. IT smiles and winks at Harry as he passes. It’s a good thing Harry’s lips are stitched together. Otherwise he’d probably throw up. 

 


	2. Speak part 2

The second marking period has come around the corner so it seems. Harry’s parents make him stay after school every day to get help from his teachers. He usually just walks idly around the building. He doesn’t care enough about his grades to even begin to think about taking initiative. But one day he comes across an abandoned closet. See, he’s just trying to hide from the football team; he’s not ready to deal with them yet. It looks like it used to be a janitor’s storage space but it’s clear that no one has been here in months. It has an ugly pea-colored chair and a bright red rug beneath it. Bookshelves scattered around the wall. Cobwebs decorate every nook and cranny. Harry decides it’s the perfect place for him. Useless and abandoned.

 

He begins bringing in things from home, books, a fuzzy quilt, and even some nice smelling candles. Even though it’s perfect, it smells to high heavens. But it allows Harry precious alone time. Even though he’s alone at home, usually, it doesn’t feel like it’s truly  _his_  home. This closet was made for him and he transformed it into his own unique hiding place. He didn’t have to answer to anyone but himself. He didn’t have to talk.

But it was getting harder and harder to talk. It was almost like his vocal cords had swollen up. Sometimes he could talk around Liam but that was just if they were alone. He could barely speak to his parents, either. Their condescending “I’m a parent, god dammit” act had gotten to be a bit much for Harry. Gemma started calling less and less. He thought that she was the one person he could maintain, his own sister. But even she got tired of Harry being so mopey. But how the hell was he supposed to fix himself when no one would offer to help him? But how could they offer to help him if he didn’t ask for help? After all, he couldn’t  _speak_.

Harry wanted to take the guilt and the blame and pass it to someone else. Someone who truly deserved it. But as time went on Harry realized he wouldn’t wish this on anyone. His body didn’t feel like his own, it felt like a play thing. Nothing he had, not even his own body, felt like his. He felt like the shell of a person and he was aching physically every day. He wanted it to stop.

Thanksgiving that year was typical. Mom and dad rushing around trying to make everything look perfect. Gemma was coming home for the holidays and that was more important to them than anything. Of course, Harry was just the annoying manic depressive son with the weird lips and the speech problem. But Gemma was a star pupil, perfect in every single way, going to an Ivy League school, a lovely boyfriend, and no drug problem. Perfect.

“Hi Hazza,” Gemma pulls him into her arms and she smells like cinnamon. Harry hasn’t been hugged in a long time.

“Hi,” Harry manages to choke out.

“What’s wrong with your lips?” She’s almost laughing.

“It’s nearly winter,” Harry shrugs. He’s had this since August. Whatever, like she cares anyway.

“Mom and dad are worried about you,” Gemma says this like it’s a prompt.

Harry merely shrugs his shoulders at her. What the fuck does she want him to say, anyway _? Yes, I’ve had the worst time of my life and I contemplate suicide every day. Help me, Gemma, you’re my only hope._ But this wasn’t Star Wars or any other ridiculous movie where people can somehow just magically spout off about all their problems. This was  _life_. And in life, you either said the bare minimum to get by or you said nothing at all. Harry said nothing at all.

The small talk over the dinner table that evening was agonizing. It was all about Gemma. Harry loved Gemma, but now he hated her. As much as he didn’t want to be noticed he thought it would be different with his family. He didn’t do anything of value. Unlike Gemma, he just sat around all day, eating, sleeping, and trolling around with Liam. But even his mother had caught on that Liam was 99% responsible for the friendship, hence, he did 99% of the work.

“What have you been doing, Harry?” Gemma asks, trying to be friendly.

Harry shrugs, “Nothing.”

“I’ll tell you what he’s been doing,” his dad begins, mouth full of food and fork waving in the air. “Wasting his life away! He used to be so happy; I haven’t seen those dimples of his in so long. I know there’s something he’s not telling us. And he’s got the worst grades I’ve ever seen.”

Gemma tossed him a look of sympathy, “Aw, well, I’m sure it’s just freshman year. It’s never really easy on anyone, y’know?”

Their mother smiles the widest smile Harry’s ever seen, he wouldn’t be surprised if her face actually broke in half, “Look at you, Gem, looking out for your brother. How’d you get so smart?”

He’d hoped that maybe Gemma would try and talk to him later that evening but she never did. He sat on the floor of the shower, letting the water cascade up and down his back. He heard a knock at the door and it was Gemma. She asked if he was okay. He didn’t respond. What if he were dead? What if he had fallen down and slit his throat on his mom’s razor or something? Do they not think of these things? But again, this wasn’t the movies. In the movies, people cared. In real life…they didn’t.

The following Monday he stays after in art class. Niall, overhearing this, pleads to stay after as well to work on his project. He sits at the table over from Harry and Harry can feel his eyes burning into him. What does Niall want, anyway? Doesn’t he have something to say? He takes out the discarded turkey bones from Thanksgiving. Mr. Cowell nearly shits himself with excitement when he sees Harry take them out.

He glues the bones to a block of wood, arranging the skeleton like a museum exhibit. He finds knives and forks in the odds-'n'-ends bin and glues them so it looks like they are attacking the bones. He takes a step back. It isn't quite done. He rummages in the bin again and finds a half-melted palm tree from a Lego set. It'll do.

He pops the head off a Barbie doll and sets it inside the turkey's body. Niall walks past and looks. He arches his left eyebrow and nods. Harry waves his hand and Mr. Cowell comes over to inspect. He almost faints with delight.

“That’s…that’s actually really cool, Harry,” Niall admits, with a weak smile. “Good one!”

“Well, this is just fantastic, Harry!” He exclaims, patting Harry on the shoulder. “Now, what does it say to you?”

Harry tries to speak but he chokes. Literally. He can feel the bile rise in his throat. What on earth was he trying to convey anyway?

“Do you want to know what I see?” Harry nods.

“I see a young boy caught in the remains of a holiday gone badly,” Mr. Cowell sounds grave. “Broken dreams, it would seem. This tells me one thing, though, pain.”

Harry doesn’t allow himself to hear anymore. He walks out shortly after the bell rings. Leaving the remains of his project behind him.

In biology class they’re dissecting apples, so it would seem. Studying the seeds, whatever bullshit biology requires them to learn. Harry bites into his apple, ignoring everything that the teacher had said.

“What are you doing?” Nick hissed. “You can’t do that! She’ll kill you.”

Harry just sighed and began to cut up his seeds, dividing them evenly. One little seedling looked like it had already been growing. He ended up getting an extra credit point for creativity. Nick merely rolled his eyes. Harry loved showing off for Nick.

School has been out for what seems like months now. Harry loves winter break. He sees a note when he wakes up at noon from his mom. It says he can put up the Christmas tree if he wants. It’s only two days till Christmas but no one in the house cares enough to acknowledge that fact. So Harry does, he decorates it nicely and has to admit that he does a decent job. If there’s one thing Harry’s good at-it’s decorating. But he didn’t want to do that for the rest of his life so he’d probably just wind up being an office drone like his father.

When it’s actually Christmas they all wake up at noon. Fluffy white snow blankets the house and wraps them in cold. Harry loves it best this way. He got his mother a black sweater, and she actually seemed to like it. He hated to admit it, but he was sort of glad Gemma wasn’t there. Apparently she was ‘too busy’ doing…well nothing. There was nothing she could be doing. College was closed during Christmas break so he had no idea where she was. Probably holed up in someone’s house that wasn’t full of depressive, self-loathing people. Gemma was too happy for them. But at least, this way, he could get his parents attention, show them that he wasn’t a worthless piece of shit. He got his father the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. It killed them both to admit it was a movie they both loved.

His parents got him some nice gifts he was surprised at that. A lot of gift certificates, a tv for his room(another reason not to leave), and lastly a sketchpad with charcoal pencils. They tell him that they’ve noticed him drawing a lot. And he almost tells them right there.

The tears flood his eyes. They actually noticed that he’d been drawing. After all of the things they had put him through, this was almost a breath of fresh air. They really cared. When Harry had snuck home that night his parents had been gone. It was almost 2 AM. He knew they weren’t expecting him home, they thought he’d spent the night at Louis’. He stumbled into the shower and scrubbed his skin raw. He couldn’t tell if the hot water was burning his skin or if it was just the loofah. He never went to sleep and he never told them. He couldn’t bear the thought. He wasn’t sure if he could ever tell them. What would they think of him then?

He had been forced to go to work with his parents since he didn’t do shit around the house. They left him alone for the most part, but he felt fairly humiliated at having to be babysat. All of his parents’ employees looked at him with disdain. They all knew about Gemma. The sad thing was, there weren’t any recent photos of him. But there was one that nearly killed him. It was him and Louis, they were sitting on a Vespa. Harry can remember that Vespa. Louis was at the back, his arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s torso. He wasn’t sure why his mother had that on her desk, of all places, but he wanted to burn it.

Back at school again. It seemed like a matter of time. Harry groaned in frustration when he saw a note in his locker from Liam. He was in serious shit with The Marthas apparently. They have this project to make Valentine’s Day pillows for sick children in the hospital. Liam says he’s not doing it right, gluing on hearts crooked, stuffing the pillow incorrectly. So they’ve demoted him to just stuffing pillows, because that’s what he fucks up the least. He asks Harry to help him.

“Please, Harry, you’re so talented! And who knows, maybe they’ll ask you to join to?” Liam’s eyes glimmer.

Harry shudders. The last thing he wanted was to join The Marthas. And he knew that there was no way in hell they’d want him in their little group. Liam blabbered on and on about all the fun they’d have before Harry had even given him an answer. He sighed and nodded his head. How could he say no? What else did he have to do that was more important than stuffing pillows for sickly children? And Liam and he both knew that the answer to that was nothing.

They move on from apples to frogs in biology. Nick is, of course, thrilled. He absolutely loves dissecting things and even calls it an ‘operation’. He wants to do stuff like this when he gets older, he says. They have a girl frog, Harry mentally calls her Sheila. She looks like a Sheila. Nick pins her little froggy legs and her little froggy arms and Harry’s supposed to cut open her little froggy belly. It’s not even just the smell that gets him, it’s seeing Sheila all sprawled across the table, about to be cut open and analyzed. And the worst part of it all? She has no idea it’s going on. She’s already dead.

Harry’s not sure what happens. One minute he’s here, the next he’s not. But he can feel the cut, smell the dirt, and feel the leaves in his hair and the weight on top of him. He can’t get away. He doesn’t remember passing out.

“Harry,” he can feel someone tapping his cheek. “Harry, are you okay? Harry.”

It’s Nick. He tells him he hit his head on the way down. He feels something warm on the pads of his fingers when he touches the back of his head. He sees the crimson blood. He grimaces. He’s told he needs to get stiches. What he really wants is brain surgery. To forget this. He’d give anything to just forget.

Harry is hanging up posters for Liam.  **Bring a can, save a life**  they say. He had nothing better to do and Liam had to run track. He was actually really fucking good at it. He ran so fast sometimes Harry couldn’t keep track of where he was. But that’s when IT found him. He’s outside the shop room; it’s kind of a secluded hallway, too.

“Freshmeat” IT whispers, so close to Harry’s ear that he can practically feel IT’s lips brushing up against it.

He squirms and runs away. He lies to Liam, says that he put the tape back in the box and that his mother had to come get him early. He didn’t know why IT insisted on torturing him like this. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? Why couldn’t he just let up?

There was another call from the guidance counselor about Harry’s grades. Dinner that night was almost unbearable. They asked him several questions. “What’s wrong with you?” and “Do you think this is cute?”. Well how the hell could he answer? They didn’t care what he had to say. They wouldn’t believe him, either. He had to come straight home. No Liam’s. And he had to show them his homework. He felt like a fifth grader.

 Even Gemma made a pitiful attempt to call him.

“Hi champ,” she oozed from her end.

Harry grimaced, since when did she call him champ? “What?”

“Is everything okay?” Gemma sucked in a breath before she went on. “We’re all really worried about you.”

“Who?” Harry asked.

Seriously, who were these ‘worried’ people? He’d love to meet them. He wanted to laugh in Gemma’s face and hang up but he knew she was trying. That wouldn’t be fair of him.

She sighed, “All of us! Me, mom, dad we’re all so worried about you, Harry. You used to be so happy.”

“I’m beside myself with glee,” Harry rolled his eyes and hung up. He didn’t want this fake sympathy bullshit. Gemma never called again.

He took a needle to his wrist. He etched little patterns, watching the blood trickle down his pale skin. He laughed at himself. If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, well then what is this? A whimper, a peep? Who would listen to this?

Mom saw it at breakfast.

“I don’t have time for this, Harry,” she scowled.

And why would she? A suicidal son was the last thing she needed.

“Suicide is for cowards, Harry,” she is stern. “You’re not a coward. I don’t know what the hell this act is, but it needs to stop. Now. You’re making us all look bad.”

Lunch with Liam that day is extremely awkward. Ever since they got back from winter break Liam sits on the outskirts of the Marthas table. Harry usually sits on the other side of him, hoping that they don’t notice him and make him leave. He realizes he could probably eat in his closet every day, but having a least ‘one friend’ is comforting to him. It’s obvious that Liam doesn’t match the rest of them. It’s obvious that they’re ignoring. And it’s embarrassing how Liam pretends not to notice.

Danielle clumps a can of beets on the table, “What is this?”

“They’re, uh, beets?” Liam shrugs.

Danielle rolls her eyes, “Well, no shit. We found an entire bag of beets in the collection closet. They must’ve come from you.”

“What’s the big deal?” Liam furrowed his brow, getting defensive. “They’re beets. People eat them.”

The rest of the Marthas sigh at once. Harry can see Liam tense up and shuffles his feet under the table. He wishes that Liam would just tell them all to fuck off and leave. But Liam’s too good for that.

“It’s not just that, either,” Danielle says. “Your numbers are abysmal.”

Liam looks to the side, “What numbers?”

“Your can quota,” Danielle spouts matter-of-factly. “You aren’t contributing.”

“Well, we’ve only been doing this a week. I’m sure I’ll get more,” Liam reassures, digging his spoon into his pudding, avoiding their eyes.

“It’s not just that,” Eleanor’s eyes could burn you, Harry was sure of it. “Your poster designs are atrocious-my little brother could do better. No wonder no one wants to help us, you’ve turned this into a massive joke.”

Harry has a lump in his throat. How dare Liam not defend his posters? He worked hard on those, too. Just goes to show how much of a scum-sucking people pleaser Liam is.

Just then, Danielle pokes Eleanor and giggles, “It’s him. Zayn Malik. I think he’s looking for you, El.”

Harry turns around. They are talking about IT. Zayn. Zayn Malik. He comes in carrying a takeout bag of Taco Bell. All the girls seem to swoon as he walks past. Long, skinny legs. He looks like a prayingmantus. Harry wants to scream, to run away, but he knows what it’ll do. Absolutely nothing.

Liam returns back from putting away his tray, “Is Zayn as bad as everyone says?”

Danielle shakes her head and scrunches her nose, “It’s just a rumour.”

“Here are the facts,” Eleanor supplied with eagerness. “He’s rich, he’s so fucking cute, and he called me last night!”

“But there’s a rumour that he sleeps with anything,” Danielle sneers. “As if.”

“I don’t believe it,” Eleanor shakes her head. “Rumours are spread by jealous people. Hey, Zayn. Did you bring enough lunch for everyone?”

Harry stops listening after that because he can’t breathe. He can’t even move. And Zayn is standing right behind him, he’s so close, Harry can smell him. He smells like too much cologne. Harry squeezes his eyes shut hoping that Zayn will just go away. The lights seem to dim and everything seems to stop. The air is even colder and Harry feels like his soul is being ripped from him. He feels Zayn’s fingers play with his curls, tucking them carefully between his fingers. Harry mumbles something stupid and runs for the bathroom.

Up comes his lunch. He pukes until he can’t breathe. Pukes until there’s nothing left. He wants it all to go away. He wants Zayn to go away. Liam never comes looking for him, either.

He longs for the day when people will understand him, see why he had to do what he did. What other choice did he have? Now he was truly alone with not even Liam’s company. Sometimes he wished that he’d never been born at all. 


	3. Speak part 3

Harry misses the bus. Again. He’s not sure how it happens. Ever since winter, it’s so impossibly dark outside. He comes home from school, and within an hour, it’s pitch black and Armageddon outside. So, naturally, he refuses to get out of bed. Why would you want to go out into the dark, where it’s freezing, blowing snow, when you can just stay in your warm, cozy bed? What’s the crime in that? Harry decides not to rush. He lazes downstairs and finds the house quiet and cold. Just the way he likes it.

He’s eating some dried out cereal and reading the newspaper. Looks like they’re having another shitty snowstorm next week. Of course. Harry’s mom walks in and puts her hands on her hips.

“You know you missed the bus again.”

Harry nods but doesn’t make eye contact.

“I can’t drive you,” she sighs. “I’m already late. Get your boots on. It’s a long walk and it snowed again last night.”

Truth be told, it’s not that bad. Something about winter makes everything blanketed in quiet. As if anything you say will just not be heard. Of course, that’s usually how it went with Harry, anyway. The snow isn’t even that ugly slushy kind. It’s almost like someone came through and threw buckets of sugar everywhere. By the time he reaches downtown, he’s hungry again. He loves the town bakery’s jelly doughnuts and decides to buy two doughnuts and call it a brunch.

He’s just about to approach the door when all of the sudden IT comes out the door. Zayn Malik with a raspberry-dripping doughnut in one hand and coffee in the other. The jelly bleeds into the snow, making it ugly. Harry freezes, maybe Zayn won’t see him. He’s starting to open his car door when he turns his head and sees Harry. Harry almost wants to groan out in frustration. Of course his luck with this guy fucking sucks. What did he expect?

He steps towards Harry, smiling, and it’s almost sinister. Harry feels a lump in his throat. Zayn holds out the doughnut, “Want a bite?”

Harry whirls around and takes off. He’s not even sure how long he goes before he’s out of breath, but he’s fast, dodging random poles and the occasional stray person walking. He feels like his lungs are about to burst, and sucking in the cold air doesn’t help. Then he decides something. Why even go to school?

The first hour of skipping school is always incredibly liberating. No one to tell you what to do, where to go, you just do your own thing. Harry was lucky, in a sense, that he was really tall and his voice was so deep. Although, that didn’t matter much because he never said much anyway. But after about an hour, his feet are hurting, and he can feel his nose hairs. Everything is frozen. He wonders whether kids in Arizona have more fun skipping school, at least they have no snow. And they don’t feel like every single inch of their body is being stabbed with knives.

The bus saves him, and he decides to get off at the mall. The mall is the worst place for Harry. But during school, it’s like it’s a whole other place. It seems almost empty. It actually seems appealing. There’s no teenagers scattered about laughing at the people walking by, making out everywhere, revealing rather private parts of their bodies through ridiculous popular fashions. He actually feels kind of cool, being this independent. It’s not that he’s never allowed to go places by himself; it’s just that he has no one to really go with. And just as well, it’s somewhat better being alone anyway. He tries to convince himself it’s better that way.

He decides he should just tell someone. Get it over with. But he sort of sniggers a bit at the thought. Who the  _hell_  would believe him? He knew that if someone told him that, he wouldn’t. Or would he? Would he be as cruel and dismissive as most high school students are? I mean, you hear about it, but you don’t really think it’s going to happen. Till it does. Then you’re truly lost.

But Harry did learn a good lesson. He set his alarm clock extra early for the next day. He went to school for the next four days, and by Friday, he wanted to scream. He needed a mental health day more often. It was just refreshing to not have to be around the same idiots every day.

In language class they are dissecting the Scarlet Letter. It was an alright novel, Harry thought, but a lot of it was a bit dull. He realized that he and Hester Prynne had a lot in common. Hairwoman, as he so affectionately called his language teacher, was hammering it to death. It was all about SYMBOLISM to her. What each sentence meant, every single bit of imagery.

But Harry couldn’t lie, sometimes it was fun. Almost like breaking a code. He wondered if Hester would say no. He decided they’d probably get along. They’d live in the woods together. Hester with a red A embroidered on her wardrobe, and for Harry-an S. But for what? Silly? Stupid? Shame?

"The description of the house with bits of glass embedded in the walls—what does it mean?” Hairwoman demanded.

The whole class simply stared at her like she was crazy. What was the point in asking a bunch of 14-15 year old students what they thought about a glass wall? It had nothing to do with anything.

"Think of what that would look like, a wall with glass embedded in it. It would . . . reflect? Sparkle? Glass in the wall. We use that on top of prison walls nowadays. Hawthorne is showing us that the house is a prison, or a dangerous place maybe. It is hurtful. Now, I asked you to find some examples of the use of color. Who can list a few pages where color is described?"

Louis raised his hand.

“Who cares what the color means?” Louis challenges. “How do you know what he meant to say? It’s not as if he wrote a book called “The Symbolism In My Books”? If he didn’t, then you could just be making this all up. How do we know if  _you’re_  even right?”

Hairwoman looks appalled, “Hawthorne was a genius. Nothing was merely accidental.”

“I thought we were supposed to have our own opinions?” Louis flicks his hair, Harry rolls his eyes. He sometimes forgot that Louis could be such a twat sometimes. “I think it’s a bit hard to read, I mean, some parts are pretty interesting. But I don’t believe in this symbolism stuff. I think you’re just making it up.”

Hairwoman assigns a 500 word essay on symbolism. The entire class yells at Louis in the hallway. Harry just sighs. Louis always had a big mouth, it’s nothing new.

Honestly, nothing good ever happens at lunch. It’s torture. Day after day, eating the same shitty food, making the same awkward small talk with Liam. Today they don’t sit with the Marthas. They sit by the windows, overlooking the drifting snowbanks. He hears Liam try to ahem his way through what he wants to say, but he’s too preoccupied to listen. The sounds of the cafeteria are overpowering. Yelling kids, chewing, the clanging of trays and dishes. It’s almost like a zoo.

“So, um, “Liam began, his voice was strangely quiet but still friendly. “I’m not sure how to say this. What do I want to say? We kind of paired up at the beginning of the year, y’know? We kind of just…it was just you and me from the start. And that was really nice of you and all, I really do appreciate it. But I think it’s time for us to just admit that we’re too different.”

Harry furrowed his brow, “You mean we aren’t friends anymore?”

Liam gives him a halfhearted smile, “We never really were friends, though, were we? I never really knew anything about you. You just kind of drifted in and out of my life whenever you felt like it. I don’t think that’s very fair. I mean, besides, I have my own clan and whatnot and I like to run…I like to draw.”

“I like to draw?” Harry was hurt.

“But that’s just it-you don’t like anything,” Liam shook his head. “You’re, like, one of the most depressed people I have ever met. And I’m really sorry to say this, but I think you need professional help.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “So, I’m nice to you and I’ve been your friend when no one else cared to listen, and you’re blowing me off because I’m a little depressed?”

“I knew you’d take this the wrong way,” Liam sighs. “Look, when you get through this whole life sucks phase, I’m sure you’ll make loads of friends. But you can’t just cut class and alienate yourself just because you’re pissed off at the world.”

“Shouldn’t you try and be nice to me?” Harry can feel his throat closing in.

“You have a reputation,” Liam said icily.

“For what?” Harry was incredulous.

“I can’t eat lunch with you anymore. No, scratch that, actually, I can’t be seen with you. Sorry.” Liam didn’t sound sorry at all.

Harry watched him walk over to the Marthas and they accepted him readily, with much more warmth than in the past. He never looked back at Harry. Harry never really wanted to be Liam’s friend until now. He wanted desperately to run track with Liam, check out hot girls at the mall, and eat cookies his mother baked. But no one would want to be his friend. He was damaged goods.

The next day at school, Valentine’s Day, everyone is making a big deal over these paper hearts. Harry can’t see what’s so unique about them. They clutter around lockers and he ignores the shrieks and hugs in response to them. He wasn’t expecting to have one on his locker.

There it was. “Harry” it said in neat print on the outside. He looked around to see if anyone was laughing, but all he saw were the backs of heads and conversations carrying on about other useless things. His mind raced,  _who could it be from?_  Immediately he thought Zayn. But then he realized Zayn wasn’t that kind of guy, he wouldn’t dare. What if someone thought he was cute? What if someone liked him? Then his heart stopped. Nick Grimshaw.

He saw Nick stealing glances at him in Biology sometimes. He’d heard plenty of rumours about Nick’s sexuality and they made him feel flummoxed. But he knew that if Nick knew the truth about him, he’d rethink it all in a heartbeat. He refuses to open it, though. The pain of knowing would probably be too much for him anyway.

They’re sitting there in class, barely listening to the teacher and he can tell Nick is close to dozing off. He opens up his notebook and lets out a breath. He can do this.

**Thanks**

He slides it over to Nick who looks at Harry quizzically but he sees Nick get nervous, clam up, even.

**You’re welcome**

Harry looks at the words until they seem to bleed into the page. What now? He decides to draw their teacher as a robin, he passes it to Nick who smiles and draws a tree branch for her to perch on. They pass the notebook back and forth until the bell rings. They muffle laughs behind their palms and gaze at each other with red faces. Their hands accidentally touch as Harry picks up his books and bolts out of the room.

When he arrives at his locker he decides to actually open up the note. What could it hurt? And he was positive that it was from Nick. His heart was still beating fast and adrenaline pumping through him. It fell to the floor and he stooped over to pick it up. His heart was fluttering. As he opened it he recognized the writing instantly and his heart sank.

**Hey, dude, I feel a little bad for what I said earlier. But thanks for taking it so well. I’m sure you’ll do fine with the rest of your time here. Good luck!**

**-Liam**

Harry can feel something inside him break. His throat closes in again and he barely shuts his locker as he auto-pilots himself down the hallways. He’s on the verge of a meltdown and he can’t even feel himself walking. All he can think of is the immeasurable pain and the heartbreak that he’s facing. He finds his closet and slams the door, not even bothering to lock it, not even turning on the light. He collapses into his chair and breaks into wracking sobs. His entire body is aching and his lungs feel like he’s on fire. He wails into his shirt sleeve. He didn’t know how much more of it he could take. He couldn’t face anyone. He was truly alone. He didn’t have Liam, some geeky cute lab partner in biology, nothing.

They have a meeting with the Principal and the guidance counselor. Someone has noticed that Harry’s been absent, that he doesn’t speak, that he’s a complete outcast. His parents were there, too. His mother squirms in her seat and messes with her hair a little too much. His dad keeps checking his phone anticipating a call that would never come.

“Why won’t you just talk, Harry?” “My God, this is so childish!” “How can you be so selfish?” “You’re only hurting yourself!” “Speak!”

“We’re all here to help,” the principal is kind. “Now, let’s start with your grades, Gary.”

“Harry,” his father sternly corrects.

“Harry, last year you were a fantastic student. All A’s, barely absent, I heard fantastic things about you and expected a lot. But now…after the reports…well, what can I say?” The principal winces.

“That’s just the thing, he won’t  _say_  anything!” Harry’s mother shrieks.

“I think maybe we should think about his home life,” the guidance counselor speaks up. “Is everything okay at home?”

“Never been better,” Harry’s mother pursed her lips into a thin line.

“He’s just doing this to get attention,” his father sighs. “His older sister left, and he’s been quite shaken up ever since.”

Harry can’t help it but he snorts. As if. He could care less whether Gemma was home or not. It was just one more person that didn’t really care about him. Just about her image and how he would tarnish it.

“You think this is funny?” Harry’s mother snaps.

“Do you two have any marital problems?” The guidance counselor inquires.

Harry’s mother’s eyes widen in shock, “Where do you fucking get off?”

“Go to hell,” Harry’s dad follows.

Now they get it, don’t they?

Harry’s parents apologize but then go on to blame it on the school. Harry doesn’t listen anymore. He just can’t bring himself to care. It’s all gotten to be the same thing day after day. He can’t speak, he can’t tell them what happened. Why? Well, because he knew they wouldn’t listen anyway. No one would. It doesn’t matter.

He gets put into in school suspension. He actually likes it more than regular school. You just sit in a room all day, do your work, and when you aren’t doing that you can sleep, eat, or read. Just no talking. It’s actually really perfect for someone like Harry. But then Zayn Malik walks into the room and Harry can feel the air turn to ice.

“Late again, Mr. Malik?” The supervisor asks.

“Car troubles,” Zayn smirks, taking a seat right behind Harry.

When the supervisor isn’t looking, sometimes Zayn plays with Harry’s hair or blows in his ear. It’s cruel. Harry wants to swat at him but the thought of even touching him makes Harry’s entire skin crawl.

Mr. Cowell asks him to stay after school the following Wednesday. He tells Harry that his inspiration is dry and he needs to look deep within himself to find it.

“There’s nothing there, though,” Harry insists.

Mr. Cowell sighs, “Harry, you’re not looking deep enough. You need to dig deeper, really think. I know you have it in you. You’re very talented. You’ve gotten so good at art over the course of this year. You know more than you think.”

“I don’t know anything,” Harry kicks his feet against the floor.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“You said art was about feeling, right? Well I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what to feel,” As soon as Harry says it he covers his mouth.

“I,” he stammers. “I gotta go.”

“Harry, wait,” Mr. Cowell steps towards him. “You’re a good kid. It seems like you’ve got a lot to say. I’d like to hear it sometime.”

Nick invites him to a party. Harry can’t imagine that any party that Nick throws will be that fun. He says his parents will be there and can even give Harry a ride home. He spouts off any excuse that comes to mind and he’s surprised that Nick doesn’t try to stop him. But that’s just how guys are. Yes/no. Stay/go. They don’t care one way or the other. Nick gives his wrist a squeeze and says he’ll see him in biology Monday. Harry scuffles his feet and blushes a deep red. How can Nick be real?

As he walks home he fights with himself.

“He wasn’t going to try anything,” Harry 1 pouts. “He just wanted to talk to you. You could have kissed him, maybe even held his hand. He seemed interested he picked  _you_  out of the crowd. Stop being such a fucking baby all the time.”

“It’s a dangerous place out there,” Harry 2 reasons. “You never know what could happen. What if he was lying? What if his parents weren’t there? Always assume the worst. Prepare for disaster. Remember to say no, remember to be careful and watch out.”

He wishes he could kick both of them out of his head.

He can remember that night so vividly. He had lied to his mother, as had the other boys. They were all going to stay at Louis’. It was him, Ed, Niall, and Louis. Louis had gotten them into a senior party, an end of the summer bash. They all dressed up in their best jeans and t-shirts. Harry remembers Louis taking Harry’s beanie and wearing it himself. Harry had made beanies cool.

The party was crazy. Loud music, loud people, dancing far too close for comfort. Harry laughed and talked to a lot of people. Ed played guitar and people told him he was going to go far. Niall took as many shots as his stomach could handle. Louis, on the other hand, was in the corner making out with some girl that Harry didn’t recognize. He saw his hands slide up her dress and decided to go outside. The beer tasted bad, but he’d had three already. Maybe he’d get drunk and have a good time.

He walked out towards the woods and looked up at the moon, full and ripe. He breathed in the crisp summer air. He heard the crunching of leaves and whirled around. The boy was tall, handsome, and smelt of smoke and dark. Something about him was just dark, a little dangerous, and Harry could feel himself falling almost instantly.

“Hey,” Harry cooed shyly.

“You’re too cute to be out here by yourself, come dance with me.”

He wrapped his strong arms around Harry. Soon they kissed, tongues wrestling, fighting to gain dominance. Zayn tasted like stale cigarette smoke and beer. But Harry felt grown up so he pressed his fingers to the nape of Zayn’s neck. He felt Zayn’s hand roam down to his ass, he thought it was rude but he was too involved at this point to care. The kiss was sweet, deep, and he felt like a man. He felt beautiful.

“Do you want to?” Zayn breathed against Harry’s jaw.

Harry didn’t answer, he didn’t know. Suddenly they were on the ground. Harry didn’t remember this happening. He didn’t remember when Zayn was between his legs, feeling hardness against his thigh through his jeans. “No.” Harry mumbles excuses and twists his head away but Zayn keeps kissing him, pressing his body into his and Harry can feel tears welling in his eyes. And then he feels his shirt up, pants down, and wails into Zayn’s hand. He smells like beer and mean and he hurts hurts hurts Harry. He stands up and zips up his jeans and smiles.

The next thing Harry sees is a telephone. He calls 911, he doesn’t know what else to do.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator declares loud and clear.

Tears ooze down Harry’s cheeks, spilling all over the handset and he can’t get out the words, he can’t think. His lips are bruised, his body hurts, he can barely fucking walk. He feels sticky and dirty, his hair is a wreck and he has dirt all over his shirt. Someone grabs the phone from him and screams the police are coming. He can see Louis’ face, he is outraged and his voice just becomes blank noise, he can only hear the faint outlines of rage. Someone decks Harry in the face and he gets a bloody nose. He crawls out of the house through a tangle of legs. He runs as fast as his legs can take him to an empty house.

He scrubs his body in the shower, allowing a generous water flow to his aching backside. He sobs so loudly that he can’t even hear the pound of the shower water. Is that what growing up was?

 


	4. speak part 4

pring was disgusting at the beginning. Everything was wet and muddy. Bare and blooming. He didn’t understand why everyone was so excited for spring. The only reason he was excited was because it meant that school was almost over. He only had three more years left. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through them.

He almost got sick at what he saw in study hall the next day. Louis was in there with him, of course. He was hoping for an escape from Louis but was disappointed to find him in his sixth hour study hall. He didn’t think much of it when he saw Zayn in there sometimes. He just assumed he was hanging out with the douchey football team. But then he saw him inch his way closer and closer to Louis. Once, he swore he saw them holding hands. He felt sick. He felt betrayed. He wondered how Lou would react if he said, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds”. The thought made his stomach lurch.

He felt guilty about it, though. He felt like he was setting Louis up for some sick kind of disappointment. There was absolutely no way he could voice his feelings to Louis at this point. He knew that Louis would just write him off. It was depressing, because too many times before would Louis care so much for Louis’ opinion, he would hang on it. He could even remember when Louis had come out to him.

“Harry,” Louis shuffled his feet on the pavement and grew slower and quieter on their walk home from school last May.

“Yeah?” Harry was patient; however, he was kind enough to always pay attention.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” Louis sighed.

Harry knew this wasn’t going to be something easy.

“What is it, Lou?” Harry offered him a kind smile for reassurance.

“Promise you won’t judge me or think I’m weird or anything, yeah?” Louis was completely unsteady.

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned, “Come on, Louis, what kind of a best friend would I be?”

Louis gave a slight smile and looked at the ground and cleared his throat, “I think…no, I know…I’m gay.”

Harry smiled, “Really?”

Louis gauged his reaction and slowly nodded, “Yeah.”

Harry stopped walking and instantly pulled Louis into a smothering hug. They stood there for a moment just wrapped in each other’s arms and thinking of anything but what type of image they were displaying to any passerbyers.

“I am so proud of you,” Harry whispered against Louis’ cheek.

Now he would stalk Zayn and Louis. Watch them climb stairs together with their hands clasped tightly, the foreign exchange students Louis hung out with looked none too pleased at this new addition to their clan. Harry breathed in and out of his nostrils, fighting the urge to vomit each time he saw them press their lips together. He watched as Zayn would tease Louis and make him laugh. He missed making Louis laugh like that. His eyes would crinkle and he’d throw his head back and hold onto his stomach. Zayn would nudge him with his neck and Harry could feel the tears well in his eyes.

He paced back and forth in his tiny closet. He sat down and got up repeatedly out of the pea colored chair and tapped his chin. No ideas seemed to flow, however. Then he decided he had to do something, not just for himself, but for Louis. So he writes a note. It’s the only thing he can think to do that will help. He writes it left handed so that Louis won’t know it’s him.

**Stay away from Zayn Malik. He will use you. He’s no good. Sincerely, a friend who cares. P.S. tell all your friends**

He drops it through the air slits at the top of his locker when no one’s around. As he leaves he’s approached by Niall. He looks around worriedly, hoping that he hadn’t seen what he had just done. But if Niall did, he gave no such indication.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Niall asked.

“Alright,” Harry shrugged.

“I haven’t talked to Louis in a long time,” Niall blurted, his cheeks immediately reddened. “I wanted to say that I’m really sorry for the way you’ve been treated this year. I’m sorry about Lou and what he’s done.”

“You can’t apologize for him,” Harry snapped, then soothed at the hurt look on Niall’s face. “But thanks, for that, Niall, I really do appreciate it.”

“He’s spending all his time with Zayn Malik,” Niall scoffed. “So it makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Zayn Malik is a dick,” Niall didn’t sugarcoat things. “He’s honestly a giant tool. I’m really sad that Louis would stoop so low.”

Harry took a minute to take this in; did Zayn really have a reputation? He didn’t keep up on all the regular gossip; he was far too lazy for any of that. When he sat with Liam and the Marthas they always gushed over him and how athletic and strong and handsome he was. How much he loved Perrie. But he had seen Perrie in the hallway the other day, looking sullen and almost weak. She didn’t look like a person anymore. It was almost like she had been deflated.

“Anyway,” Niall clapped Harry on the back. “I gotta head to class, catch you later!”

“I always meant to ask,” said Nick one day in biology, tapping his long fingers on the table and peering into Harry’s face. “Why are you so quiet?”

Harry shrugged, “Just am.”

“Don’t you have any friends?”

Harry laughed a little, “No.”

“Well, I’ll be your friend, “Nick offered. He made it sound so casual that Harry almost forgot to read the signs.

“You say that now,” Harry looked at him apprehensively. “You’ll change your mind.”

“Maybe I’ll call you,” Nick shrugged.

“Maybe I won’t answer.”

They made eye contact and smirked at each other and Harry felt his face grow red as Nick bit his lip. He knew he would answer. He would answer too soon, on the  first ring, and they’d chatter like excited school girls. But Harry wouldn’t open up, no matter how hard Nick tried. Nick would tease him and make him feel like a normal person and would dip his pinkie finger into Harry’s dimples whenever he smiled. But instead they just smiled at each other and went back to work. But Harry’s heart was still fluttering.

He’s in the art room after school and he smells the distinct odor of strong cologne. It grows closer and closer and he wonders if it’s Mr. Cowell coming back from the bathroom. Maybe he had a date that night and he needed freshening up? But he was gutted when Zayn Malik strutted into the room.

“Hey, have you seen Louis anywhere? Louis Tomlinson?”

Harry just sits there gnashing his teeth together and digging his nails into his palms. He feels like he might be sick of Zayn even tries to touch him. He feels Zayn grow closer and he wonders why Zayn won’t just fucking leave. He doesn’t understand how this can all be so normal for him?

“He was supposed to meet me, but I can’t find him anywhere. Have you seen him? Do you know who he is?” Zayn speaks a bit louder.

Harry’s hands begin to tremble and his entire body feels like it’s being submerged in freezing water. He breathes in and out of his nose, practically gagging at the smell of Zayn.

“Hello? Are you deaf? Is anyone in there?” Zayn snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s face.

Louis of course stumbles in at that exact moment and giggles, “Zayn! Here you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Zayn immediately ambles over to Louis and catches him in an embrace. They kiss. It’s loud and wet and almost unbearable. Harry can feel his insides twisting and he just stares straight ahead. Trying so hard not to focus on the disgusting thing going on right next to him.

Niall walks in and saves them all. Louis says a halfhearted goodbye and tugs Zayn out the door by the hand. Niall visibly shudders and vents to Harry about how disgusting it is. But Harry doesn’t really need to be told twice.

Niall accidentally gets marker all over Harry’s t-shirt. It’s blue, thank god, so the stains aren’t all that noticeable but he still hates having stains. He races for the bathroom to try and wipe it off as best he can. In a hallway close to the bathroom he notices a wall filled with graffiti about how much ‘school sux’ and how ‘ms. Henderson is a fucking wackjob’. Niall catches up with him and they both look at the wall for a moment.

“I think you’ll have to bleach your shirt,” Niall winces apologetically. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Can I borrow a marker,” Harry’s face is contorted into a frown from thought.

Niall hands it over without asking while Harry scrawls as neatly as he can

**Guys to stay away from:**

**Zayn Malik**

He smiles at Niall and hands back the marker. Niall pats him on the back and nods. Niall understands Harry and that feels really good. He wants to tell Niall, he feels like Niall might just believe him. But he doesn’t want to jinx or risk anything that he can help. He’s doing so well and he doesn’t need that to go away anytime soon. So they just go back to class. And Harry feels like he’s just run a marathon.

On Saturday Liam manages to find himself at Harry’s doorstep. Harry’s not excited or amused in the least bit. Harry’s mother is so excited she bakes cookies and prepares sandwiches and drinks. Harry frowns. She never once did that for Niall, Ed, or Louis.

Almost as soon as he sits down Liam launches into this giant story of how he wishes he hadn’t of ditched Harry, how the Marthas are a huge mistake, how he’s not having fun, and how they expect him to make all this stuff but he doesn’t have time.

“I need your help, Harry,” Liam pouts, sticking out his lower lip. “If I don’t get these posters made prom will be a disaster.”

“No,” Harry says.

“Yes it really will, Harry! They’re counting on us to make this prom great, and if I don’t do it I may not get in next year and then what will happen?”

“No, I mean I won’t help you,” Harry frowns.

Liam slouches, dumbfounded, “You…You have to help me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Harry shakes his head. “I won’t help you.”

“After all I did-“

“You did fuck all for me,” Harry snaps. “Just fucking  _go_  Liam. I don’t care about you and the Marthas, I don’t care about your dumb bullshit. It’s just high school. They’ll forget your name soon. So why don’t _you_  call  _me_  when you decide to grow up?”

He must talk to Louis. He’s on a roll and he can’t stop now. He approaches Louis in the library who is copying information word for word out of a book about France. He rolls his eyes but says hello anyway. Louis just gives him a nod and buries his head in his book a bit more. Harry takes a seat across from Louis and Louis instantly freezes.

“Homework?” Harry inquires nodding at the book.

“Sort of,” Louis’ upper lip curls. “I’m going to France this summer.”

“You’ve always wanted to go,” Harry said which made Louis smile fondly.

He peeked at the notes and at the top he saw L.W.T + Z.J.M. Harry blanches at the sight of it.

“So you’re really going out with him? With Zayn. I heard about prom.”

Louis grows all warm and shakes a little bit like he’s so excited he can barely contain it, “He’s a dream come true, absolutely perfect. I never imagined in a million years he’d pick someone like me. Fuck, I didn’t even know he was  _gay_.”

 _I did_ , Harry thought.

“What are you going to do when he goes to college?”

Louis’ smile instantly fades and he acts like he’s just been told his favorite pet got ran over, “I don’t want to think about that. It’s too much. He’s going to try and stay close to home, so he can be near me.”

Harry can’t stand that smile this time.  It’s a smile that Zayn doesn’t even remotely deserve, “You’ve only been dating, what, two weeks-three weeks?”

Louis shuts his note book and snaps, “What do you want anyway?”

The librarian pounces and tells them to be quiet or go to the principal’s office. Louis rolls his eyes and tries to ignore Harry again but Harry opens his notebook and begins to write

**It’s really nice to  talk to you. I’m sorry we couldn’t be friends this year**

Louis reads it and seems to melt around the edges.

**Yeah I know. So who do you like?**

Harry almost groans. It’s the most annoying question that every high school kid wants to know. Why does it fucking matter, anyway? And then they tell you you’re wrong when you answer with ‘no one’. As if you always  _have_  to like someone. The high school is full of idiots. No one is particularly alluring, and if they are, they’re assholes. Take Zayn as an example.

**No one, really. I kind of like my lab partner a bit. But I think it’s just a friend thing going on there.**

Louis nods wisely, oh he’s so full of wisdom. A freshman dating a senior, and a popular one at that, how uncommon. Louis always liked to stand out and be talked about. He never once cared what others thought and Harry had to wonder how he could even begin to deal with it.

**Are you still mad at me?**

Louis stares blankly at the question and closes his eyes, trying to find an answer deep within his brain. But auto-pilot couldn’t save him this time. He had to  _talk_.

**I guess not. It was a long time ago. The party was pretty wild. But it was really dumb of you to call the cops. We could have just left.**

Harry swallows the lump in his throat.

 **I didn’t call the cops because of the party, I promise. I…I called because…some guy…he raped me. I was stupid and I was drunk. I didn’t know what was going on and he ~~hurt me.~~  **Louis leans closer.  **Raped me. I just walked home I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared.**

Louis looked appalled and horrified as he scratched back

**Oh my god, Haz. I am so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you?**

Harry feels the tears well in his eyes and he shakes his head.

**I couldn’t tell anybody.**

**Does your mom know?**

Harry shook his head and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

**Did you get an STD? Are you okay???????????????????**

**I’m not really okay. I don’t think I do. I’m not sure about anything.**

Louis just leans across him and writes so fast that Harry can barely read his handwriting.

**Who did it?**

Harry takes a deep breath.

**Zayn Malik.**

_“Liar_!” Louis practically spits at him. “You fucking liar! You’re such a messed up freak! I don’t know why you’re like this!” He grabs his books from the table and holds them close to his chest. “You’re just jealous I’m going to prom so you make up a bunch of lies! I can’t believe you would do something like this, Harry. I didn’t think you’d ever stoop this low.”

The librarian marches up but Louis just says, “I need to go to the nurse. I’m gonna throw up.”

Harry sits there with the wretched tears in his eyes and can feel acid rising in his throat. He had tried so far. Why didn’t that matter to one single person? He was trying to hard to speak, do what they wanted him to do. But how could he when absolutely no one would believe him?

He heard someone call his name and realized he must be paranoid. He was hearing things, he was insane, and he needed help. Those are three things he had figured out.

“Harry,” Niall gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you take the late bus? I need to show you something.”

They take off down the hallway to the one outside the bathroom, the graffiti wall. He proudly shows Harry the various comments written under the one he had left just a week ago. A variety of handwriting all saying that Zayn was a beast, he couldn’t be trusted, and he was disgusting. Harry felt like he could soar at that moment. He wasn’t alone. That was the best feeling of them all.

School is ending, the days are growing longer and hotter and everyone’s gotten so lazier. Harry decides he doesn’t want to be lonely anymore, he doesn’t need the closet. He decides to take everything down, the books, the comforters, all the posters he had put up. He left the door wide open because there was no one left in the school. Just random sports teams but they weren’t going to be wandering around this part of the school, surely.

He flicks out the light bulb dangling from the ceiling and begins to leave when someone bumps into his chest and closes the door. He tries to yell but a palm is pressed against his mouth. He flicks on the light and Harry sees him. He is trapped in a small space with Zayn Malik.

“What the fuck is your issue?” Zayn practically yells. “You are one strange little prick, you know that? Spreading around this bullshit story I raped you? I don’t have to rape anyone, I would never rape anyone. You wanted it just as much as I did. But now I guess your feelings got hurt so you feel the need to make up all this shit about me. What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Can’t get a date?”

Harry tries to maneuver around him, “Oh no,” Zayn blocks the doorway and locks it. “You aren’t fucking going anywhere. You’ve caused a lot of trouble for me. Everyone in this school thinks I’m some kind of pervert thanks to you.”

He steps towards Harry and pins him against the wall, pressing his body against Harry’s. Harry begins to wail and plead but Zayn throws a rough slap against his cheek.

“I fucking know what you want,” Zayn snarls, his lips wet against Harry’s neck. “Don’t act like you don’t.”

He tries to pull Harry to the floor but Harry jabs Zayn in the neck with his elbow and he practically erupts, “No! I said no!”

Zayn grabs onto Harry’s torso and slams him against the wall again, over and over, and Harry can feel something wet against the back of his head. He screams and wails, trying to make any noise he can to be heard by someone. Zayn tries desperately to cover up his mouth but Harry keeps throwing his hand away and screaming, “No! I said no! Get the fuck off me!”

He punches Zayn in the nose and it’s a clean hit. Blood begins to gush and Zayn is bending over moaning. Harry can hear a knock on the door. It’s furious pounding, which, he can’t tell if that’s his head or actually someone at the door. He opens it and is surprised to see Niall there with the lacrosse team behind him. One of them peels away from the crowd shouting for help and Niall cradles Harry in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he breathes against Harry’s ear. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Harry clings onto Niall for as long as he can and sobs into his shoulder. He never thought he would be heard, he never thought he would be saved. He never thought anyone would care. But this just proved it.

Many people asked if he was okay, thanks to some loudmouth on the lacrosse team. His mother had to take him to the hospital to check on his head, another concussion, he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t forget the look in his mother’s eye when the lacrosse coach had told her what had happened to him. She pulled Harry close and kept telling him how sorry she was. But he was sorrier. He should have spoken before.

It’s the last day of art class and Mr. Cowell rewards him with an A+ on his tree. He begins to cry.

“No tears in this room, mister,” Simon says with a grin on his face and brings over a box of tissues. “You’ve been incredible, Harry, truly. I can tell you’ve been through a lot haven’t you?”

“Let me tell you all about it.” 


End file.
